DIRTY JUSTICE BOOK TWO
Copyright © 2018 by Nancy Henderson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used as fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Publisher © N. E. Henderson
Published on June 24, 2018
Editor: Ellie McLove
Proofreader: Charisse Hankins
Cover Design © Regina Wamba
ISBN-13: 978-1-948539-91-3
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Also by N. E. Henderson
Acknowledgments
About the Author
SEBASTIAN DIAZ
* * *
His name brings fire to my belly and piercing pain to my chest. He stole something from me I never knew I wanted. He tried to take me away from Drago in his attempt to end my life. I was supposed to be a message; payback for not accepting an offer—a partnership. And although I may be alive, Diaz might have succeeded in ripping Drago from me.
* * *
For now, I have to put that behind me and focus on finding the little boy that needs rescuing from the deadliest drug lord Southern California has ever seen.
* * *
I never imagined there was anything that would make me cross that thin blue line. But despair and hate and sorrow can blur one’s vision so much that the line doesn’t exist anymore. I didn’t ask for this war, but I do plan on ending it—ending him.
* * *
An eye for an eye.
1
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
What is that incessant sound? Whatever it is, it needs to stop now!
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Oh, dear God, someone make it stop.
But it doesn’t. It’s a continuous repeat of annoyance that’s echoing inside my head. What the hell is it?
Making myself hone in on the noise, I realize exactly what that sound is. I’ve heard it plenty of times before when I’ve had to come to the hospital to interview victims and criminals.
“Baby, please wake up.”
Drago. He’s here, but where? His voice nicks at my heart. I’ve never heard him sound so distraught, if that’s even the right word for it. It’s more than agitated and crazy. He sounds a little desperate in the way he’s begging.
“Why isn’t she waking up?” His voice cracks. “It’s been hours dammit!”
Something, or someone, squeezes my hand in a tight grip, but I can’t seem to gather myself enough to respond. What’s wrong with me?
“Mr. Acerbi, I wish I had a better answer for you. The only thing I can tell you is that she’ll wake up when she’s ready. Be patient. These things can take time.” The man’s voice is soft, patient—but lacking concern for D’s state of mind.
“Some doctor you are.”
That’s what I’m saying . . .
It’s with that thought that all of the events from before hit me at once, smacking me in the face. Gabriel. Shit, I want to cry and I’m not the crying type. That son of a bitch took him! And I didn’t protect him like I was supposed to. Some fucking parent I’ll be one day. I let Drago’s son be taken by a ruthless drug lord that’s capable of just about anything, and just as unpredictable.
The pain that rips through the center of my chest hurts so badly, making me wish for darkness to overtake me again. I don’t want to face this. I don’t want to be the one that let them both down. Let myself down even.
I’d never forgive me if I were in his shoes.
“What the fuck is happening?” Drago demands, his voice taking on a panic I wouldn’t have thought possible with the strength he outwardly projects. “Why is the monitor making those sounds?”
“Her heart rate has increased. It’s accelerating rapidly.”
“Why? Do something!” D demands.
There is a fast, scraping sound to my right as if a chair was shoved backward.
I open my eyes, and I’m hit with a bright fluorescent light hanging above me, blinding me. I wince, squeezing my eyelids as tight as possible.
Trying again, I open them, only slower this time, blinking and allowing my sight to come into focus. It’s then I realize I’m lying in a hospital bed just as I thought when I first heard that telltale beeping noise of a heart monitor. Rolling my head to the left, strands of my hair pull, tearing from my scalp, but I need to find him.
Scanning my eyes everywhere, I finally roll my head the other way, finally locating him. Our hands are clasped together and he squeezes once again, only this time I’m able to return the affection.
Drago stands tall on the other side of the bedrail, looking down at me. His forehead is puckered with his brows knitted together. D’s eyes appear nearly pitch black but rimmed red with worry. It bites at my chest, gnawing deep inside.
“Bri, baby?” His voice sounds broken and so unlike him.
Does he know that sweet boy is his son? No. My mind shuts that thought down. If he did, he wouldn’t be here with me. He’d be out searching every hole for his boy just like I want to do now. We have to find him. The urgency pounds into my head, hammering over and over. Gabe has to be okay. He has to.
“Are you okay?”
My thoughts are lodged in my throat. Mike had to have gotten that Amber Alert out by now. He had to have. But how long has it been?
D sits down in a plastic chair that had been pulled close to the bed. The grief-stricken look that mars his face makes me want to crawl under the covers rather than face the man I’ve been keeping a huge secret from. I’m not weak, I remind myself, steeling my back on the thin mattress I’m lying on.
I stare at our clutched hands. Both of his are wrapped around mine, holding them close to his lips like he’s in prayer.
“Gabe,” I croak out.
“Stop worrying about that kid and worry about you,” he forces out, confirming he’s still in the dark about his son. “Are you okay?”
D doesn’t give me a chance to answer. Instead, he turns his face away from me, looking toward my feet.
“Is she okay? Is she going to be okay?”
My eyes follow the direction of his voice, landing on a tall, dark-skinned man dressed in a white coat who’s standing at the foot of my bed. My gaze zeroes in on the name threaded through the fabric in cursive script: Marcus Thornton, MD. He’s good-looking, late thirties I’m guessing, and even in my medically drug-indu
ced hazy vision, I can see he’s well-built underneath his clothes.
He reminds me of someone—but who? I don’t know and it’s not something I care to waste my time examining. Gabe is my priority.
“Welcome back, Miss Andrews, or Detective Andrews, if you prefer,” he greets me. “I’m Dr. Thornton. I’m the trauma surgeon that treated your injuries upon arrival a few hours ago.”
A few hours ago? How long ago was it? How long has that fucker had my baby? Dammit!
Everyone is right. I’m already too attached, and I have been damn near from the beginning. I know he isn’t mine. I know I cannot keep him long-term. But that fact doesn’t stop me from caring about him, from loving him. It’s impossible not to.
“Bri. You can call me Bri—or Brianna,” I croak out, my mouth dry as bone. I’ve never cared for the formalities or the titles.
“I prefer Miss Andrews or Detective Andrews.”
Then why the hell did he even ask? Whatever. I don’t care. All I care about is finding the little boy that was depending on me for his safety.
The cold, sterile environment of a hospital that until this moment has never bothered me, coats my skin, and starts to seep deep into my pores as it wafts up my nose, making my stomach churn with nausea.
I want out of this bed. I want out of this plain, off-white room. I want out of this hospital.
I have to get out of here if I’m going to find Diaz and his men that stormed into my home, shot me, and took what wasn’t theirs to take.
“How do you feel, Miss Andrews?”
My eyes flicker up to the doctor’s dark brown ones. He’s emotionless, and I suppose you have to be when you see the things they do on a daily basis. I know that better than most people. I have to turn off a lot when I’m on the job. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have lasted a week as a cop. You can’t wear your heart on your sleeve. That doesn’t mean I don’t have sympathy or empathy, because I do. It simply means I have to look at everything with a clear head in order to make the right decisions.
I also know I haven’t had a clear head since Gabriel and Drago both entered my life. If I had, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten taken.
“Fine,” I tell him. “When will I be released?”
“Not tonight,” he says, almost with a hint of amusement that I don’t care for.
Well, I don’t know anyone that wants to stay in a hospital longer than necessary. It’s not like people vacation here.
“What do you mean not tonight? Didn’t I say I feel fine?”
“Bri.” Drago draws out my name, but I don’t bother to look in his direction or acknowledge I heard him. My eyes stay locked with the doctor’s, waiting on an explanation as to why he thinks I need to be here instead of out in the city, searching for the missing boy I failed to protect.
I don’t feel any pain so I must not have been injured that bad, but then I catch something in the physician’s eyes and facial features that make my stomach drop while dread washes over me from head to toe. Oh, God, is it Gabe? If that motherfucker hurt him I swear to God I’ll kill him—consequences be damned.
“Perhaps your friend would step out to the waiting room and we can—”
“I’m not fucking leaving. How many times do I have to say that, doc?”
I squeeze D’s hand, making sure he knows he’s not taking even an inch away from me. I’m a strong woman. I know I am, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach is scaring the shit out of me right now. And if this does have to do with Gabriel, shouldn’t Drago be present?
A moment ago, I was prepared to leave here so I could find the man that put me in this bed and place him behind bars. But now . . . I’m not sure if I’m going to even get that chance.
Was Gabriel already found? Did something worse happen?
My mind races like it never has before. I’m starting to feel slightly crazy, so I need Drago here with me, beside me.
“Are you sure, Miss?”
A growl rips from Drago’s mouth.
“Yes,” I bite out at the ridiculousness of his mannerism. If it is about Gabe, then Drago definitely should be here. If it’s about me, then just tell me and let me get out of here so I can do my damn job.
“Very well.” The doctor sighs and it’s then I recognize the hint of sympathy in his eyes. “You have a concussion from hitting your head. Your ribs are severely bruised, and I’m surprised none of them were broken by the numerous blows your body took. You were very lucky there.” He nods. “But you’ll be in a lot of pain once the morphine wears off. You do have a button to push should the pain get too unbearable though.”
His head dips, nodding to my side, and it’s then I look down. Lying next to my free hand is a white plastic device with a red button on top. I pick it up, but I don’t press it. Other than stiffness and grogginess, I feel okay, so why the cloak and dagger nonsense about D leaving while he speaks to me? I know now even if he knew something about Gabriel, he wouldn’t be the one to tell me. There would be no reason for him to.
So what is it then?
This, what I’m feeling now, with the drugs in my system, is nothing like the pain that sliced through me when Diaz shot me, or when—
“I’m sorry I have to inform you of this, but you miscarried your baby.”
2
I’m frozen where I lay. I can’t move, and I can’t look away from the man standing in front of me. His eyes betray him. Dr. Thornton’s face is forced into what appears to be empathy, but his dark gaze doesn’t translate what he’s trying to make his face say. Maybe it’s like seasoned officers; maybe he’s seen so much trauma he’s desensitized to all of it—the violence, the tragedy, the loss . . .
A miscarriage? I was pregnant? No way. I couldn’t have been. He has it wrong. Why on earth would he think I had a miscarriage?
“What?” Drago’s question comes out as a whisper, as if asking himself. It snaps me out of my internal realization of what I was just told. It’s then I finally take a breath, inhaling a gulp of air.
“I’m sorry.” My head shakes slowly from side to side, still unable to wrap my brain around it. “I what?”
“So, I take it you weren’t aware of your pregnancy then?” His eyebrows lift high on his forehead as if finding it hard to believe. Well, I’m finding it hard to believe he thinks I was pregnant.
It’s now I realize where I’ve seen him before. He’s Jase Teller’s stand-by medical physician at MMA fights. I’ve been to a handful with Nikki and he’s always there. That knowledge seems irreverent now.
Pregnant.
“I’m not.” I can’t be. There’s no way. He definitely has the wrong patient—the wrong information.
“I assure you, Miss Andrews, you were pregnant. We did not do a D&C while you were unconscious, or while we removed the shrapnel from the bullet that grazed your leg. It’s a surgical procedure, which can be performed to prevent hemorrhaging and infection, but since you were only seven weeks along, it doesn’t have to be done. Your body can naturally abort it. However—”
Seven weeks . . .
“Naturally?” What the fuck does he even mean by that? Didn’t he already say I’ve miscarried?
My heart suddenly stops, or that’s what it feels like. I feel it the moment it happens—I’ve lost the . . . Oh, God. I lost another baby. The full force of everything that has happened today hits me like a sledgehammer to my head and a shot through my chest.
“Yes,” he continues in his clinical manner like this realization isn’t breaking my heart, isn’t shattering me into a million pieces. “A woman’s body, in most cases, will naturally expel the fetal tissue. What I was going to say is that some women elect to have the procedure anyway for emotional reasons, so they can go ahead and begin the healing process—both physically and mentally.”
I gasp for air again, not realizing I wasn’t breathing.
Gabriel is missing. I let a monster steal Drago’s son. And in an attempt to save one, I lost another I didn’t even know I had in my care. I allowed
one life be kidnapped while another was murdered.
No!
This can’t be real.
This can’t be happening.
My chest feels like the weight of an elephant is squatting down on me, with no chance of it moving off. I’m suffocating; that’s what this feels like.
“Bri!” Drago yells my name, the force of his voice washing over my frozen face.
“Calm down, Miss Andrews, please, you’ll only cause your body more harm.”
My injuries? Who gives a fuck about my injuries? They are nothing compared to what I’ve lost today—what was taken from me.
“No . . . no . . . no . . .” I continue repeating the words over and over, shaking my head. This isn’t happening. None of this can be real. It’s a nightmare, not my reality. I’m going to wake up and all of this will wash away. I’m going to wake up and Gabriel will be tucked safely in his crib, sleeping with his monkey. He’s just in the other room. Wake up dammit!
“Bri.” My name is called through clenched teeth. Drago’s hands tighten around the one he’s still holding, squeezing in an attempt to reach me. “Baby, please slow your breathing down.”
His palm starts to run up and down the length of my arm. I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. I know I am. I’ve seen it plenty of times on the job. But right now, it’s me, and my heart is jackhammering so hard, threatening to rip out of my chest. I can’t turn it off. I don’t know how to compartmentalize this. It’s impossible. How do people survive this type of thing? This is unchartered territory for me and it’s completely unraveling me.
Dirty War Page 1